Forsaken
by bethe1tosay
Summary: Nineteen year old Sydney Vartan has a good life going for her, until she meets 29 year old Isaac. When she discovers he's not only immortal, but a vampire, emotions fly, and a spark is lit.
1. Sydney

Sydney Vartan was a supposedly normal, thought-she-was-plain-looking but really was very exotic-come-get-me-looking, and beyond intelligent. At nineteen, she had the body of a model and the face of a goddess, one no man would ever be able to forget. But this beautiful girl loved to wear bohemian-styled clothes, button-up shirts, and flip-flops. She usually wore her hair up, but when she let it down it flowed down her back in a mass of shiny, dark red waves. She had the greenest eyes, and olive skin. She never wore very much make up either, only earthy tones.   
She lived in a small apartment in downtown Chicago, and worked in a rather-large studio that sold rare art and collectible weaponry. A rather odd mix, but the business did well and paid well. Not to mention she enjoyed working there.   
She also had no idea she was being watched..  
  
The tall, slender figure pushed his hands deeper into the black trench coat's pockets and blew out a breath. He was starving. His short, messy black hair along with the small goatee he was trying this century gave him an artsy look, and his British accent made him sound wise, intelligent. He was gorgeous, more than pleasing to the eye. He had a wide, blue eyes and always looked as if he had shimmery brown-gray eye shadow surrounding his eyes... It was shimmery, and made people wonder.  
(A/N: Think Lestat from Queen of the Damned)   
The skin on his face was pale but tan; perfect skin; and a lean, muscular body added to the appeal. This night, he wore a black turtleneck over black slacks and a trench coat, his normal apparel.   
His breath came out in white spurts and he walked down the street. He had just come outside, from his warm penthouse in the heart of Chicago, and already he was freezing. His skin was colder than usual, and his pulse was going low. He was so hungry, starving... But he hadn't found the right victim yet.  
  
Sydney locked the door to the shop behind her, and closed the gates. Wrapping her black peacoat around her and folding her arms, her long legs instantly had goosebumps running along them. She knew she shouldn't have worn this skirt today, even though it was her favorite. With an odd print fabric and purple draw string with beads on the ends... What not to love?   
She began walking down the street, the heels of the studious black shoes she had worn that day clicked on the cement. The sound echoed along the empty street. She suddenly felt as if she were being watched, and began to walk faster. When she got to her building, she unlocked the door and ran up the stairs and didn't stop until she was to her door. She looked left, right, and then down the stairs, and then sighed. She let herself into the apartment, and relaxed. Turning on the lights, she threw her keys down on the shiny, cherry desk that she had found at an antique store a year earlier. Although she had no where to put it, all of her furniture was mix-matched anyway, she put it near the door to have easier access to things she needed and couldn't lose.   
Sydney took off her coat, and placed it on a peg that was above the desk. She clicked the answering machine, and listened to messages from her friends about parties, concerts, and things she might be interested in as she took off her shoes. She noticed that the feeling she was being watched still didn't leave her.  
When the messages were done, she went into the living room, which was separated from the entrance by a wall decorated in framed black-and-white art, and looked around. It was a huge living room, and she was lucky to have it. She had over stuffed striped-chairs and a sofa under the window with an old beach wood coffee table in front of it. There was a dining room of to the left, and swinging doors that separated the kitchen. It was a nice apartment, a very nice building altogether, and she felt blessed. She loved her home.  
But now she felt awkward... She didn't like being watched, or even having the feeling. What was it? 


	2. First Meeting

The next evening, an hour before closing, Sydney looked up from the magazine she was reading and put down her coffee cup as the door opened. A tall figure came in and looked around slowly. She couldn't see who he was yet, all the paintings on canvases blocked her view. "Hello," she called out. "Can I help you, sir?"  
He suddenly came into view, and he was not at all what she had been expecting. She had never seen someone so... so... mysterious looking. So incredibly handsome. And no one had ever looked so yummy in black. Ever. She had to admit, he was the best looking thing she had seen since the elf in Lord of the Rings.  
Smiling, she noticed he was staring at her, his eyes strangely intense. Before she could say anything he replied. "Yes, actually, you can help me."  
Any way I can! She wanted to yell out the words, but kept her mouth closed. He even had an accent... what other appealing secrets did this stranger hold? She raised her eyebrows, and waited.  
He took in a breath and began walking toward her, a slight stagger in his walk. His cheeks looked a little hollow, he was a bit underweight, she noticed. But still gorgeous. "I was wondering," he began, interupting her thoughts, "Would you happen to have any paintings by..." he paused, and his look became even more intense for some reason. "Waterhouse?"  
She raised her eyebrows. He was perfect.   
She was terrified.  
"Um, yes, actually, we do." She choked on her words. "They're here, in the back." She came out from behind the desk, and was surprised when something lit in his eyes.   
  
She was wearing green. He loved it when she wore green. She wore a black knit turtleneck, and a green bohemian skirt, decorated with tiny beadwork. She wore black flipflops, and an anklet made of purple amythest. Her hair was up, and her lips...  
"Do you know?" She repeated. He had been staring, and her question immediately brought him out of his daze.  
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I was thinking about something... What was your question?"  
"Do you know what painting your looking for?" She asked again, and he noticed there was no impatience in her voice, no urgency or annoyance.  
"No. I'm not really looking for anything, eh.. specific. I'm just looking for something new and I saw some of his work online the other day."  
Well, at least he seemed as if he could keep a conversation going. A lot of men she knew could only talk about one thing, things she usually weren't interested in.  
"Do you like Waterhouse?" He asked suddenly.   
She was startled, her nerves on edge. There was something about him... "Yes, actually, I do." She smiled at him.   
His cold heart wanted to feel something, and he almost wanted to let it... Not yet, he told himself.   
"He's my favorite artist."  
Sydney watched as his perfectly sculpted face showed surprise, and his brown raised slightly. He splayed his hands and asked, "Truly? What's your favorite painting?"  
"It's called Ophelia. I love the dress the woman in the painting is wearing."  
"What else do you like about it?"  
Well, now... He asked questions. How many men, let alone people, asked anything about anyone else now-a-days? She liked this person. "Um.. Well... She looks so comfortable with herself. The lilies in the background are so lovely and add to the painting. It's soothing and I just, I love it." A little embarrassed, she looked up at him. It was then she noticed he was rather tall, maybe 6'1 she judged.  
He smiled, but didn't show his teeth. "Would you happen to have it here?"  
Sydney nodded and guided him to a collection of painting that hung along the back wall in ornate frames. The whole back wall was rare John William Waterhouse paintings, her favorite part of the store. She pointed at the one 3rd from the top, and 5th from the right. "Right there." She smiled at it.  
"It's beautiful." He said, and inspected it. "I'll take it."  
She turned and stared at him. "What?"  
"I'll take it. That is, if you don't mind." He said.  
"Um, no of course not." She had the same painting already hanging above her bed. "But it's an immense cost for a painting."  
"How much?"  
"Four thousand."   
He nodded, and began looking around. "I'll take this one, too." He pointed at the one named Le Belle Dame Sans Merci, another one of her favorites. "How much?"  
"Six..." She trailed off. He was so odd... she wanted to study him, stare at him, sketch and draw him.   
"Four?"  
"Thousand." She said.  
He laughed and nodded his head. "What's the least expensive painting in here?" Not that he had to worry about money anyway.  
"Um, two thousand." She laughed.  
"Okay. Now I see why you have the whole thing gated and nine locks on the door. The front is quite lovely, by the way."  
She smiled at him. She had helped tend the flower garden and pathway that was made of cement and different-coloured marbles that led to the shop. "Thank you."  
"Now, how do I pay for this?"  
"We can take it in payments, we'll send you a bill every two weeks, or whatever's conveinent and deliever the painting when you're half way through your payment," She explained.  
He looked a little distraught for a moment. "Can you do me a favour? Can I pay for one now, completely, and take them both? Or have them delievered tomorrow. I'm having a party soon, and well... I need these. I just moved into a new... apartment and it's pretty bland." He lied, but all well.  
"Um... Well, yes we can do that."  
"Great." He smiled and pulled out his wallet. He handed over his credit card.  
She charged him, and was shocked when it was accepted. Handing the card back over, she smiled weakly. "I'll be delivering them around 12:00 tomorrow." Grinning, she asked for his address.  
Sydney watched as he ran his hand threw his hair, and it remained in it's messy yet blissfully perfect state, and blew out a breath. "Could you deliver those a little later? Maybe seven?"  
She nodded, and he wrote down his address. "Thank you." He murmured, and his gaze was suddenly heavy lidded as he looked down at her. "See you."   
And with that he left. He forgot to give her his name. 


	3. A Rude Awakening

SORRY! I realize this story is kinda just dragging on... I'm just sort of making it up as I go. I realize there are a few errors too but I'm sure you can makes sense of them. Anyway, things are going to heat up pretty soon O . o woooo lol so bare with me.  
  
Sydney listened as the guitar music filled her head. Frail by Finch was rolling out of her stereo on repeat, and had been for the past 5 hours. It was already 3 A.M., she couldn't believe it. She couldn't sleep, all she could do was lay restlessly and had no idea why. The thoughts of the gorgeous man in the shop kept entering her head. She figured she'd never see him again after tonight when she delievered her painting... but he was so mysterious. She didn't even know his name. She knew only that his eyes were like stone, with no warmth when he looked anything, although she thought she saw some sort of emotion flick into his eyes and burn out when he looked at her. His eyes were amazing, none the less, blue eyes that could bore into your soul. (A/N Think Jim Caviezel (High Crimes or Count of Monte Cristo) mmmm hehehe) They were dark and intense, like the rest of him. He looked rather.. he didn't look sleepy.. Just, lost maybe. Lonely?   
How could a man like that be lonely? She questioned.  
  
Giving up on sleep, she turned on her lamp and got out of bed. She heard the slight patter of rain against the full wall of curtained windows in her living room, and walked into the kitchen. She thought she saw something move in the tree outside, a brief glimpse of shiny black material. Putting water on to boil, she walked over to the window, and looked outside. A figure was sitting in the tree!  
"Oh my GOD." She thought and turned the light off to see better. When she turned back around, the figure was gone, and wet leaves that sparkled in the moonlight were the only things she saw.  
  
Sydney opened the stall door and stepped out of the shower. Reaching for a comb, she began humming along with You Look So Fine by Garbage, which was blaring out of her stereo. It was 6 A.M. A little early for her, but she was glad for the extra hour she had before she had to leave for work. She usually opened the shop at nine, and waited for her boss to come in an hour later, and Maria two hours after to take over her shift while she had her break.  
Walking over to the closet, she pulled open the doors and stood in front of her clothes. It ranged from black to bright greens and reds to earthy browns and oranges. Most of it was turtle necks, button up shirts, shirts with strange designs, gauzy and silk shirts. There were slacks, jeans, jean skirts, and then about fourteen different colour Bohemian skirts. And at the far end, a pair of tight, black leather pants she had never worn. Why she bought them, she had no idea. Looking down, she also had a wide variety of shoes. From black boots to cowboy boots to flip flops to dressy heels. She had collected clothes and shoes as a hobby, buying whatever she liked and could afford. She liked wearing new things, things that made her feel pretty. She didn't care what anyone thought of her, and loved having that freedom.  
After picking out a green shirt; which was made out of gauzy material stretched over a loose lycra material and silk on top of that, all different shades of green It had small silk sleeves that covered the top of her shoulders and it was sinched under the breast area, so it was tight there and hung loosely over her abdomen. She the grabbed a purple skirt, which had decoration at the bottom, and clunky wood shoes completed the outfit. She doned a leather choker that had jade pieces in it and pulled her hair up. After putting some bronzer and mascara on, she was ready to leave.  
As she passed a full length mirror on the way out after grabbing her bag, she stopped. She looked... special. She realized she had dressed up. WHY? She told herself, he's probably not interested in you at all. Who's he? DUH! She mentally slapped herself. He probably hasn't thought about you once, now go.  
Chastizing herself, she grabbed her black coat and left.  
  
She barely made it through the day. When six thirty rolled around, she checked every mirror in the store to make sure she looked over before she left. After making sure she had his address in her pocket, she put the two paintings into her bosses' Mercedes, he let her borrow it since her new, navy blue VW bug wouldn't be able to fit the paintings into the backseat, and got in. She liked this car. She liked it a lot.  
Sydney suddenly began wondering what career this man had. As she reached the upper class part of Chicago, she stopped at a huge, rather fancy, sky-scraper-looking building. A valet came up to take her car, and another to help her with the paintings. Another valet came and escorted her and the paintings into the elevator and up the stairs. She smiled at him when he let her off at the top, and then walked down the small hall to the huge white French doors... with gold hinges, she realized. Christ.  
She knocked a few times, and then waited. Suddenly the door opened, and he appeared. She gave him a breathless smile. "Hi."  
He smiled back, "Hello." His accent thick. She wanted to drop to her knees. "How are you doing this evening? Come in." He gestured her in and helped her pick up the paintings.   
She almost dropped her bag when she looked around, and took in her surroundings. "Christ Jesus." She whispered. It was immense. Two full walls of the pent house were glass, and the others taken up by priceless works of art and pottery, and new age furniture. A huge marble fireplace was in the living room of the left, and was surrounded with glass walls. It had two stairs that led down into that room, and the rest was tiled hallways that led in various directions. To the left, on a higher platform was a settee and low set table with a silver tea service on it. A huge plated glass wall wouldn't let he see anything else beyond that.  
"This is nice." She managed.   
"Thanks. Now... Will you help me find places for these paintings?" After ripping off the brown paper, he lifted up the Ophelia painting. "I love this one," he murmured.  
She looked at him from the side, his profile was pleasant, and peaceful. He was still tense, though, and she wished he would relax. He made her wonder though.  
"We could hang it up over there," Sydney pointed to the wall in the middle of the floor length glass window, the view breathtaking.   
"Yes, we can." He walked over and placed it there.  
Looking down at the other painting, she looked at a tiny drop of black or very dark red liquid on the floor. She noticed it trailed all the way down the hall way... and to the end room. She followed the trail, and then wanted to stop when she reached the door. But she opened it, and screamed at what she saw....  
  
  
BORING CHAPTER!!!! Ah, please, reviews needed. I have nothing to write about, and im so BLAND. LOL well.. its starting to get good I guess. What do you guys want to read?!?! 


	4. Surprises, Surprises

"Shite," was all the man could murmur before he heard her running down the hall towards the door. He barely moved and was already in front on her in the blink of an eye.   
She removed her shoe, prepared to hit him. "What the fuck are you and who the hell is.. or was in there?!" She moved her arm back to intimidate him even more, but he had her wrist in a tight grip. He had moved so quickly and gracefully, she hadn't see his arm...  
"I am everything nightmares are made of. Sad to say, that is very cliched now a days... But it's true." He smiled for the first time, fully toothed... Full fanged.   
"Who are you?"  
Letting go of her wrist, he guided her away from the door and sat her in an arm chair. Silky, he moved around her, his lanky body defining grace. Since she was only paying attention to the way the fabric...that she suddenly wanted to rip off... moved around his slender, muscular frame, she didn't notice what he was doing.  
Grabbing two silk scarves, he tied them together and moved behind her. Lightly skimming his hands over her arms until he reached her wrist, he replied, "My name is Isaac... I was a nobleman in 19th century England..." He tied silk around her wrist.... Clearing his throat, "My full name is Isaac Jason Alexander, son of George Jason Alexander. My family was royalty," his accent thick, he tightened the silk. "My parents the Duke and Duchess of Worthington, and I the heir. I had two younger siblings. My younger sister Susana Marie... was a beauty." Isaac sighed, and wrapped the silk around her two bound wrists. "And the youngest of all three of us... My brother." He wrapped tighter. "James. What a spoiled little shite he was... But then again..." He finished his knot, and leaned over until his hot breath touched the sensative skin under her ear. "Weren't we all?"  
Suddenly snapping out of it, Sydney finally noticed the bonds. She began pulling and wanting to scream but could only wail. "ISAAC, get these off NOW. I swear to God," she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears as he stalked towards her, "I won't tell a soul, I swear. I have no idea... I've never met you. Please, just let me go. Don't hurt me."  
Isaac crouched down, and covered her soft mouth with his large palm. He sighed at the feeling of those lips against his skin... how many times had he imagined them there? How long had he been watching her now? "Sydney... I won't hurt you. I just need to keep you a while."  
"WHY?!" She shrieked. Although he was the most handsome man she had ever met, she didn't want to be around him. His skin was cold to the touch, she noticed, and his dead eyes were beginning to truly freak her out.   
"Until I... figure out what to do with you." He laughed when he noticed how panicked she was, but stopped and reached down for her feet when he noticed a tear roll down her face. "Darling, please." He told her, his voice quiet. "Don't." The emotions he had long forgotten began to swarm his chest. He took off her sandals, and placed them on the floor, came up and kissed her cheek. He waited, and looked into her eyes. He could tell she'd never been truly intimate with anybody, let alone someone she'd know for two days. Although he had "known" her for about two now. She was so upset and panic-stricken, she didn't know how to respond.  
"What's in there, sweet, was my... feeding, I guess you could put it." He smiled, barely showing his teeth, but she could tell the two teeth on each side of his front teeth were rather oddly shapped... He closed his mouth, and a cold expression came over his face. "I am what I am," why was he explaining himself? "And I am not proud of it, but it is what is, and what will always be."  
He watched her slim throat convulse as she audibly swallowed. "What are you taking about, Isaac?"  
His body tightened, she called him by his name. His name... "Sydney," he murmured, "You would never believe me."  
An angry look took over the panic, "Try me."  
"I..." He hesitated, resting his hand on the arm of the chair she was strapped to to help him balance in his crouching position. He looked down and then up into her eyes. She noticed they seemed to swirl, switch colours when they looked directly at you. "I am a vampire." 


	5. Unwanted

Sydney choked on her tears. "Wha-what?"  
He chuckled coldy. "I don't expect you to believe me," he grimaced, showing his teeth. "But it's the truth." His accent was getting thick, he was upset. He didn't know why, he didn't want to be. What the fuck? There were feelings that weren't supposed to be there. He'd never felt them for any of his other victims, for the women he'd bedded, or the women he bedded and let live. What could he do? He wanted her, but if he killed her... He'd be desolate. She's going to die within 60 or 70 years anyway. He cursed himself. 60 or 70 years to him seemed, give or take, like 4 years at the most. It went by quickly, the world evolving changing, people coming, going, rather.. dying. People came and went, and he remembered some, quite a few actually, but tried never to think of them. That was the one emotion he could feel strongly: Hurt. Loss. Anything connected to those. But he rarely felt them anymore. He was learning to hide them, to get rid of those sharp pangs. But now every time he looked at Sydney, this beautiful girl who he could tell was so very intelligent, and sexy, he felt the pangs again. Of everything. But he could never have her, nor could he ever love her.  
That was more forbiden than anything.  
It was like being a small child and being told you couldn't have ice cream for the rest of your life.   
He was desperate for her.  
Isaac began thinking of the time he first saw her....   
He was walking down the sidewalk, wearing all black, and it was near 1 in the morning. He had just had his "meal", and left his black Mercedes down the block to walk off the sick feeling he had every time he fed. He was wearing a black turtleneck and jeans in mid-summer, although he was still freezing, and he heard a sharp click of a gate opening and closing. He looked to the right, and on the other side of the street a low stone wall covered with ivy with an archway gate in the middle had someone coming out of it. He watched as a girl in a modest tank top and a low skirt, with a black messanger bag, come out of the gate. She locked it, and then looked around and folded her arms and began to walk. For some reason, he was compelled to follow her. He was amazed every time she passed under a streetlight. Lucious skin over a slim, but muscular, body, her hair was up and shiny, and he could tell even from where he followed she was absolutely beautiful.  
She had an intelligent look to her face, and he saw that she had crossed her arms over a book called Leaves of Graa by Walt Whitman. She liked poetry...  
What a romantic girl, he had thought.  
She he followed her, every night at 1 in the morning when she would leave for home. He would watch her through windows one in a while when she was eating, and he became obsessed. She was perfect in so many ways. She had friends over, guys friends too, but never had she done anything that would make him disrespect her. She was so... so pure, way too good for him, Isaac's imagination ran while. He wondered if she was a virgin.  
Why he was having these thoughts, he had no idea. But he knew he was amazed by her. She was unpredictable, some nights she would stay up reading, others she would take a shower and examine her body in different clothes, others she would be on the phone talking the night away. She didn't have a schedual, and she was very comfortable in her surroundings, he noted. In the morning she got up around 6, got dressed and wandered around before she went to work. It was a repeated cycle, the day was. But he would never see her in the daylight, or else that would be the true end of him. The painful, but true end.   
  
"Are you alright?" Sydney's question broke his line of thought. She looked more worried than anything, and from the tight feeling in his face he guessed he looked anxious.   
"Yes, sorry." Isaac got up from the floor and began pacing.   
Sydney watched as Isaac's abs worked under the tight black shirt. He had a rather nice butt, too. In those black Levi's... She watched his 6'1, lean figure pace back and forth. He was graceful, even in the heavy black boots he was wearing. He was pulling at the tiny hairs above his mouth. He suddenly looked at her, and then moved behind her to the fireplace. He checked the clock on the wall, and it read 9 o'clock. He had to go. Grabbing his coat, he came over and kissed her forehead and left. 


	6. Isaac

Sydney was in shock. What was with the kissing? She suddenly realized she liked it. That was wrong of her, but she wanted more of those soft kisses, and in more places than her forehead. Sydney wasn't a virgin and she knew what she wanted, but she had been with one man, and only once. It had been her first time at college, and she had left after three months because of him. The embarrassment...  
Sydney cleared her mind. What did her virtue have anything to do with Isaac? Those smoldering looks he gave her clearly stated what he wanted. But why? How did he know her? She had so many questions to ask, and he wasn't here to answer them.  
"Asshole," she murmured unmeaningfuly. Sydney then took the time to look around at her surroundings. She drank it all in. She was in a sort of living room, or a sitting room. She hadn't really noticed where he had dragged her to after she had peeked inside the bedroom at the end of the long hall. The penthouse was oddly shaped, with rooms here and there, and so much glass. She was sure that bedroom had been his, and it looked to be the size of her entire apartment. There were plush settee's, sofas, and armchairs, and behind her a gigantic gas fireplace. It was modernized, she noted. It must have cost a fortune to put in a fireplace in an apartment like this.   
Sydney then thought about the bedroom again. From what she saw, it was amazing. A huge, high canopy bed, covered with dark greens and navy blue threaded with gold sheets and curtains. There were padded arm chairs around a huge tv on the other side of the room, next to a bar, which was in front of a whole wall taken up by glass. He had many visitors, she could tell. And it seemed he was always entertaining in his room...  
She brushed the feeling of jealousy that it might be more than quite a few various women away. Why should she care? All she cared about was getting out of here. Although.. it was rather nice.   
But then a vision flashed in her mind, and she saw the body on the floor of his bedroom again. There was a little blood staining the towels that were put under her head, and she looked almost as if she was resting. From the brief glance Sydney got, she could tell the woman had been beautiful. But rather slutty, unless what she was wearing was a slip.  
STOP IT, she commanded herself. JUST KNOCK IT OFF!!! WHY DO YOU CARE?! JUST GET OUT OF HERE!! She tugged at her silk bonds, and they wouldn't budge, wouldn't tear. After 10 minutes of struggling, her face was red with exertion, and she realized she was going nowhere.  
"Damnit." She muttered, and began looking around. There were ancient-looking, but shiny and restored, rifles and weapons on the walls. There were black and white pictures framed in oranate but not overly-flashy frames, that looked old too. She wanted to study them, and was angry that she couldn't.  
On top of the shiny cherry tables that held lamps were shiny oak boxes with latches. And in the far corner was a desk with a huge black leather chair. The desk was beautiful, looked to be last century but in amazing condition. It was made of cherry too, with gold and black designs imprinted on it. There were two lamps made of glass with white lampshades on each far end of the desk, and there were neat files and stacks of paperwork and bills on top. He was very well organized.  
Looking to her left, she noticed a book was on the table next to her. There was a crystal vase filled with white roses, a book of poetry called Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman next to it... 


End file.
